About Being Shy

I was born with a disease. Before you feel too sorry for me you should know that I did not have leprosy, scurvy, turrets, or any other disease in which your skin and ears fall off. Simply put, I was shy. This was not the kind of shy that is found in the famous story of The Pigfaced Man and the Man That May Be Ugly, but He Sure is A Lot Better Looking Than The Pigfaced Man. Just in case you did not have a devoted mother like I did, that read you bedtime stories every night by pressing play on the tape recorder, I will go ahead and wear out the keys on my expensive keyboard by summarizing the famous story for you. It goes something like this:

Once upon a time there was a pigfaced man and a man that may have been ugly, but he sure was a lot better looking than the the pigfaced man who lived in this story.

One day the pigfaced man was out for a walk and literally ran into the man that was ugly, but he sure was a lot better looking than the pigfaced man that was now staring down at him.

“Wow you are ugly,” said the ugly, but not too scary man.

“Oh dear,” replied a slightly embarrassed pigfaced man.

That kind of shyness did not even approach what I would deem worthy of labeling a disease like mine. No, my disease was much worse than the pigfaced man’s timidness. My shyness was debilitating, numb causing, even bowel activating.

In preschool, the other boys got together and wanted to tie me to the bridge that went over the duck pond because they thought I must be a mute. It was only my superhuman speed that would save me at the last minute, except for the fact that I happened to be wearing my red Snoopy boots that were a few sizes to big for me.

Later in kindergarten, I was so petrified of all the other students that I would stand in the corner at recess thinking to myself, “If all of these other kids just new that I was a private investigator, then I would have friends.” My favorite show at the time was Magnum P.I, and in my mind I was Tom Selleck without the mustache, but with the tiny shorts.

Unfortunately, my shyness was a disease. My poor tummy would get so upset that I would come home from school sick most of the time. I remember one time walking down to Reams, the local grocery store, with my mom. When we were in the meat section my mom was buying a few pounds of ground beef and I was staring at the dead, skinless cows hanging from the ceiling through the glass when a stranger said something to me.

“Neat, huh?” was all that the man said.

All the way home my stomach felt horrible. The pain only subsided once I was in the comfort of my home.

In all honesty if it had not been for my mom I would have never ventured from our home because of my total fear of anything that happened to living. She never told me to knock it off, grow up, or thicken up, she just listened. When I was upset, she listened. That is how my mom has always been. She cares about her kids and she wants to know what is going on in their lives, detail by detail. Unfortunately, she also wants to let us know what is going on in her life detail by detail. My siblings and I all learned an important lesson: if you don’t have an unlimited amount of time, don’t ask even the most simple question. The act of eating a piece of cheese might go unremembered by most, but not by my mom.

“How was your day, mom?” I might say.

“Well let me tell you something that happened to me today. It all started when I was hungry. I had these pains in my stomach so I said to myself, ‘Cheryl you’re dying,’ but then I thought better of it and realized that it had been two whole hours since I had eaten anything and you know how sick your sister and I get if we don’t eat. So anyway I am headed to the fridge right? And what do you know but the telephone rings. I walked over to the phone and picked it up and then I said hello. It was Alex.

“I can’t talk now, but I am coming over,” was all that he said.

Can you believe how insensitive he can be sometimes? I mean here I am in a hypoglycemic state and he doesn’t even have a minute to talk to his mother. Anyway, I hung up the phone and headed back toward the fridge. As I was walking through the hall I noticed some money I had dropped earlier, but I had no time to stop because I was on a mission. I finally reached the fridge. I reached out my right hand grabbed the handle on the door and I swung open the door violently searching for a piece of cheese. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the pre-sliced piece of Tillamook that I had purchased at Costco earlier that day. Which by the way was on a great sale. I carefully opened the package and took out one piece of cheese. I then sat that piece of cheese on the counter while I closed the package and put it back in the crisper. I closed the door and turned for my prize. After removing the grease absorbing piece of paper I took my first bite. Instantly I felt my horrible sickness alleviated. It was a miracle I even made it to the fridge.”

If I only had the time, I would love to write her biography. Can you imagine the detail? The funny thing is that if I have ever had a spare couple of hours, I have enjoyed listening to her rambling, pointless stories. Maybe it is because I feel guilty, or maybe it is my way of paying her back for all the times she listened to my immature whining about ridiculous boyhood problems, or maybe it’s just because she is my mom and I actually do care.